


A Path From

by NautilusFF



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone is miserable but things will get better!, F/F, Promise, Slow Burn, breaking down characters and building them back up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NautilusFF/pseuds/NautilusFF
Summary: Established canon up to almost the end of Book 1.There is no magic cure: despite Katara's best efforts, Korra's bending is gone. The chaos in Republic City has destroyed much of its infrastructure and demoralized the populace. Now the Avatar, bereft and severed and adrift, must determine what remains of herself and if she is capable of picking up the pieces.A reflection on driving forces and an exploration of possibilities that never were.





	A Path From

**Author's Note:**

> The finale of Book 1 was too short, too clean. I hated how it was Aang to fix everything and felt it was an entirely wasted opportunity to develop Korra further, earlier in the series. Hence we're going to Make Everything Awful. I've never felt comfortable sharing stuff like this, but here we go anyways!

It’s over. 

That’s what they tell her anyway. 

Amon has vanished and the bending populace of Republic City has been saved. But it’s not true, Korra knows this: it won’t be over until she sees him for herself. Dead? Maybe. Or otherwise incapacitated? She’s not sure. She thought she had been prepared to kill Tarrlok all that time ago, she thought she had _wanted_ the councilor dead. But Amon... A different beast. She no longer knows what she wants, only that she doesn't want to think of him anymore. Yet she only knows that even if Amon had fled to the opposite end of the earth, he would still not be far enough from her, he would still somehow find her again, would finish what he had started. She knows she didn’t hit him nearly hard enough at the arena to scare him off for good, he had still won too much from her and lost too little in the process. And those that followed him have not vanished. In this world, it is not just Amon that hates her.

When she and Mako had stumbled out onto the waterfront, it was quiet at first, akin to the eerie stillness of the sea before a brutal storm, but then the cacophony of a thousand voices. It took her a moment to realize the cheers of gratitude drowned out those of anger. The noise was deafening. She started, frozen in place, and Mako had politely wrapped his arm about her shoulders and helped her limp away from the tightening, supposedly supportive, mob. A squad of rescued “purified” police knitted around them, and yet an emotional woman shoved her way through and thanked her for saving her son, but Korra doesn’t remember helping him, much less that she had saved anyone. Tenzin had told her everything would be okay. But it wasn’t. 

A week later, she stands before Katara, her last desperate hope for normalcy, for a return to what and who she was before all of this, and hugs her old master so tightly that there is no room for tears. Katara is warm and comforting and smells like home, and she's gentle when she eases healing water over her skin, shepherds it through her pores and veins. She pushes the water further, with soft words, and Korra feels blind hope build, along with an odd, nauseating toing and froing of her insides. 

But now, Korra can sense the finality of her situation and sees the grave sadness in the old woman’s eyes, and she knows. 

It will never be alright be again.

 

\--------------

 

Korra is gone. 

And the silence in the home is suffocating. Billowing in the cold Pole air behind her, Korra wordlessly stormed off, family and friends forgotten. The quiet coils around Asami like one intimately familiar.

She can’t help but bristle when Mako reenters, quietly latching the door behind him, his head bowed and pain gripping his face, a tightness to his mouth and stride. He had sprinted out after Korra so quickly. Asami feels her heart clench with hurt and betrayal… and a little bit of perverse gratification at his apparent lack of success. But now is not the time for petty squabbles. Chastising herself, she tries to smooth her expression into nothingness, to push whatever romantic feelings she still frustratingly has for him aside.  
From across the room, Korra’s mother wraps her arms about her husband, and though he attempts to console her in return, Asami sees that they both have collapsed internally. The towering mountain of a man cries stoically. 

A small part of her resents Korra. It is difficult to be compassionate towards one who still has so much when she herself has received none in her own recent struggles. She leans against the couch, arms crossed. There's anger there and she relishes it to some degree, letting it simmer just below the surface, but tempered by her reserve. Asami knows she’s being selfish. Knows that she shouldn’t be. These days she seems to spend a great deal of time bothered not by her negative emotions, but at herself for having the audacity of even feeling them.

Lin takes a deep breath, audible only in the dead quiet. “She needs to figure this out on her own,” she says, possibly only to herself, it’s difficult to tell, a hard resolution to her voice. 

“There must be some way we can help.” Everyone turns in her direction and it takes Asami a moment to realize that it is she that spoke, that it is her own voice so distantly echoing around the small cabin.

Lin looks surprised to hear her, as though she had honestly forgotten Asami had joined them south, then regards her evenly. She shakes her head sadly and simply whispers: “We can’t,” and that's the end of it.

 

\--------------

 

With Pema still recovering and embroiled with the newborn, and Tenzin fully engaged with them both, Asami takes it upon herself to assist with their other children, however they need her. The entire group has been out of sorts since Korra disappeared without a backwards glance into the tundra. It’s been over twenty-four hours. But Korra is used to the cold. She’ll be okay. If anyone can survive out there, it’s her.

Luckily the kids seem to be doing better, having taken to the piles of newly fallen snow surrounding their hut. Meelo has once again encased himself as a snowman, waddling after his siblings, roaring with gusto as Jinorra and Ikki pelt him with snowballs, giggling as he stumbles and rights himself. When she takes a seat on the cabin steps, Ikki nails him square in the face and Asami allows herself to chuckle, forcing what she hopes to be a bright smile. 

"Asami!" Ikki shouts, eyes alight, dropping her snowball supply and flitting over like a butterfly.

“How are you guys doing?” Asami asks. She eases further back on the stair when Meelo scrambles up onto her lap, his body warm despite the snow that just covered it. 

Ikki ignores her question with the brunt grace of a child. “Asami, do you know where Korra went?”

“Korra,” she starts, unsure what degree of truth the kids warrant. “Is out thinking.” It’s not a lie.

Jinorra regards at her dubiously, but holds her tongue. 

Meelo fiercely takes her arm in his small hands and sticks out his lower lip in a pout. “Well we want to show her how to air-scooter! She might be the Avatar, but there’s no way she can beat me. I'm the best.” 

“Will she be back soon?” Ikki eagerly pipes up again.

“I’m not sure, that’s up to her. But Korra can take care of herself, and this is her home,” Asami says and rests a hand on Ikki's slight shoulder. Their obvious concern is endearing. 

Unlike with Korra, children have never really taken to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the problem lies intrinsically: even from a young age, she never had many friends. She preferred the solitude of her father’s workshop, the sureness of raw material and the conversations of schematics and machinery. A part of her wonders if that was simply because there were so few children in her family’s social circle, other potential associates barred by class and decorum. Young as she had been, it was clear several of her fellows had considered her a potential business partner (though more usually as a competitor), performing the same dance, the same cloak-and-dagger rituals, every word carefully chosen, deliberately toned, acted, entirely disingenuous. Did what few peers she had truly consider their association as friendship? Asami purses her lips.

“I heard you were all very brave when…” she pauses, not knowing how precisely to word what happened to them. When they were kidnapped by a masked terrorist and his army of thugs, held under insurmountable fear, their entire culture almost stripped away from the world for a second time? She hems... maneuvers. “When everything was going down at the arena. Mako told me how heroic you were rescuing your mother.”

That got them. Grinning excitedly, Ikki and Meelo leap simultaneously away. “Yeah, Korra and Mako broke us out! And they kicked Amon’s butt! And then we saved mom! And there was fire everywhere--!’” they shout, punching the air for emphasis and sending snow flying.

Asami wishes she was so courageous when her mother was murdered at their age. And yet she was absolutely terrified when her father climbed into that mechasuit and nearly crushed her, when he wholly betrayed her for a second time. Is fearlessness despite circumstance simply an airbender thing? 

Though she tries to focus on the animated reenactment before her, she can’t help but glance at the compound’s gates. 

Korra will be okay. She has to come back.

 

\--------------

 

Crime doesn’t sleep and neither does Republic City’s fractured government. Lin left with Tenzin and his family at dawn, the two younger airbenders on the verge of tears as he unwillingly shepherded them towards the bison. _I have a duty to the people as a member of the Council_. Asami knows he wished to stay, to guide Korra back from whatever brink she still lingers on. With the other councilors still missing and Tarrlok and Amon both on the loose, the police force purified and the United Forces decimated, the city has fallen into utter chaos. Balancing the well-being of his family, the city, the Avatar... Asami never envied his position, and certainly does not now, her sympathies confirmed further when Rohan began to wail pitifully against the seeping cold. 

She had pulled the kids together for one last tight hug, her cloak enveloping them like a shield against the blistering wind. _It’ll be okay_ , she had whispered, to reassure them (and perhaps herself?), _Korra will be back soon_. 

Ikki squeezed her tighter, muffling her voice against Asami’s thick coat: _And then you’ll all come back home to the air temple?_

Jinorra only looked away, solemn, towards her father and the former chief-of-police gently struggling to assist her mother climb up the bison’s flank, despite Pema’s good-natured swats. Then she ushered her siblings away. 

Sniffling, Meelo had turned back to her atop the saddle, had tried to cheerfully wave and failed. _Good bye, beautiful lady._

 

\--------------

 

It’s days later that she finally works up the nerve and ventures out at night. Even protected by the compound’s sturdy walls, she can’t shake the nervous anxiety that has built up over the last weeks. A brisk walk would be good. And she could have sworn she packed more layers. 

The stars are out, splashed haphazardly against the black as though streaked from wayward ink, the hues of Southern Lights reminiscent of oil, smeared and wavering and glistening. Otherworldly. 

For a long while, Asami simply admires. Before, she had thought that living outside the city limits allowed for an unprecedented view of the night sky, but here in the South, far removed from the populace, the view is something else entirely. As a child, her parents would lead her away from the mansion, to the deepest parts of the estate gardens, away from the lights polluting the air, pointing at the various constellations and guiding her eyes to recognize their shapes, chattering excitedly and regaling her with a multitude of mythologies from around the world, encouraging her to find her own designs amongst the ether and listening to her imagination with rapt attention. But that was before her mother died. Before the Equalists. Before… 

She huddles further into herself, rebundling the cloak about her shoulders and attempting to still her chattering teeth. 

Before her father had tried to kill her. 

She pushes the memories beneath her, beyond her pining grasp. There is a time for remembrances and she’s not yet willing to lose herself. 

She’s scrutinizing the way the frost catches her breath when she sees movement. Barely. A dark speck, trailed close by a larger dark smudge, on the opposite side of the compound, heading for the kennel. Scrunching the newly fallen snow underfoot, she trudges the long, dark way over.

 

\--------------

 

“You’re back.”

Korra jumps at the voice, a completely unexpected intrusion. She had seen warm firelight emanating from the huts from beyond the compound walls, but had hoped no one would be truly about at this hour, awake to see her slink back with her tail between her legs. Like a coward. Her plan was just to hide in here with Naga until morning. Of course that plan would be foiled.

Asami lingers in the doorway, hugging herself; her face is reserved, but not unkind. Asami pities her. Ugh. Great. This is definitely what she wants to deal with right now. Though, she supposes, it could have been someone else, like Master Katara, or her _parents_ , and that would have been much, much worse. 

Korra straightens, scratches the back of her neck, resting her other hand on her hip. “Yeah... I, uh, saw Oogi. Flying off,” she says, as if that’s explanation enough, shrugging before returning to unbuckling the saddle. 

They’re quiet a long, uncomfortable moment before Asami steps further into the bunker and rubs her hands together, glancing curiously about the spartan stable. “They wanted to stay,” she finally ventures, a lilt to her voice that Korra’s too emotionally exhausted to understand as reassurance. 

She waves dismissively, placating, eager to stop Asami from continuing that particular train of thought. “No, no, I’m not upset about it, I get it. I do. The city needs them. Tenzin and the Chief. Now more than ever. With me out of commission. I just—“ She grunts, hauling the saddle up and from Naga, who promptly proceeds to scoot her sides along the floor, propelled by her back legs, and rolls onto her back, kneading her freed white fur into the dirt. Asami smiles softly. “—I just, wasn’t really thinking, well, anything when I took off. Honestly, for the first few hours, I kind of forgot everyone was here. Waiting. And by then it was just embarrassing to come back. And…” 

She frowns, frustrated. Some incessant, nagging voice deep within her knew from the start of this journey that Katara wouldn’t be able to fix her, but then again, lying to herself has developed into one of her strongest skills. Avatar Aang would be ashamed at her inability to help herself. By the Spirits, _she’s_ ashamed. She had lingered on that icy ledge for hours before bolting in the opposite direction, into the wilds, into a blizzard. Even high on adrenaline and determination, she didn’t have the strength to continue the cycle; her one chance and her courage failed. What would her past lives think about her lack of resolve, her weakness in performing her duty as the Avatar, completely unworthy of that mantle and yet unable to pass it on to one more fitting? She grips the hard leather saddle so tightly her knuckles scream in protest. 

“Not really sure what the point was in the first place, though, everyone coming down here. This trip was a long shot and a waste of time and now I'm still useless and I still can't do anything and,” she strains, unable to hold back the word vomit, clenching her jaw and quickly turning away, fighting back tears, refusing to cry in front of Asami and knowing that Asami knows regardless. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

She shudders silently for a moment, lost in self-pity and entirely aware of how pathetic she looks, before Asami steps nearer, unsure, gently brushing a light dusting of snow from her trembling shoulder. Then she carefully takes one end of the saddle and leads Korra, holding the other end, to its stand. Her voice is gentle. 

“Let’s start by getting back inside.” 

 

\--------------

 

Korra spends most of her time aboard the ship outside, at the stern, with Naga curled protectively around her back. Though drawing dark clouds, low on the horizon and burdened with heavy rain, race them north, the sea has been relatively calm. She welcomes the ocean spray, freezing against her bare skin, the wind whipping through her wolftails. All her senses feel smothered. She grasps at the feeling of the droplets collecting on her face, wading as though through a thick mire to try and merely brush the essence of them. Always remaining frustratingly out of reach. The waters no longer sing to her as they once did; no longer will they answer her desperate calls. 

She shuns Mako when he approaches, footsteps heavy against the deck. She bristles at his tone, as though she’s fragile glass and a broken wild beast rolled into one. As though he can fix her. Meaning well, but unintentionally patronizing. He’s tactful enough to know not to push his advances and considerate enough to think talking this out will help, somehow, but his voice blurs until she can hardly hear him over the waters, over her own heartbeat ramming desperately at her temples. 

Finally she snaps. 

She doesn’t know what she says, but she does know it was awful. So despite the conflict and confusion and hurt in his heart, he obligingly retreats, his hands balled into fists. Korra buries her face in her hands and sobs. She can’t feel the water running down her cheeks, but the stinging, burning, is real enough to scald. Even the innateness of crying feels alien.

She can’t tell him that she’s been eviscerated, that it feels as though every ounce of her being has coagulated into this numbingly heavy void. How she still sees Amon when she closes her eyes, his touch jolting her from sleep and into this other, waking, nightmare. How terrified she still is at her own helplessness. He wouldn’t understand the immense pressure of the man’s thumb, feather-light on her skin yet crushing her from the inside out, searing into her skull like a sharp blade, her entire sense of self being stripped so carelessly away, the physical pain in her head so sharp and overpowering and instantaneous that she struggles to recall it. Yet that she would rather subject herself to that same pain once again than continue to be tormented by this agony of deep-set, utter loss in her bones. In her spirit. 

She can’t tell him that she doesn’t know who she is anymore. 

 

\--------------

 

This isn’t her boat: the cabins are cramped and unadorned and certainly not intended for comfort, but rather harsh practicality. In his quietly gallant way, Mako had insisted he and his brother take the smaller, double-hammocked room next door and Bolin stifled her protests with that naturally warmhearted charisma of his. Near certain Korra wouldn’t join her in whatever cabin they wound up, Asami feels guilty for stuffing the two in that particularly tiny space. She flops down on the lumpy mattress with a loud sigh.

In order to pay off the captain for a week’s early departure, accounting for lost freight sales and a reasonable profit, she had to dip into her personal emergency fund. Has the city frozen or confiscated her father’s accounts? She jointly owns several. And she would rather not have his criminality tied back to her on official documentation. The money should pass to her, but who knows how far the politicians will go in terms of poorly-executed, selfish “reparations”. While not precisely unethical, she’ll have to pull strings at the central bank; she desperately needs access to her family’s finances to fix her father’s mess, and surely even entrenched bureaucrats would understand that to a degree. Right? 

Nonetheless, she’ll certainly require Tenzin’s sway in the government. Lin’s too. She may have been taught how to properly navigate morally-gray areas, but that doesn’t make her any more comfortable in doing so.

Out the room’s small, stained porthole, she can see Korra, down a deck. Or at least a bit of her, over Naga’s bulk. No doubt Korra dreads returning to Republic City as much as she does.

Through the vents of the cabin, the aroma of cheap roasted meat wafts up from the galley below. She can’t clear her own mind, but maybe she can help Korra with hers.

 

\--------------

 

Nothing special, some sort of seal meat, she was told. Asami took his word for it. Definitely not cuisine she is accustomed to, but seemingly standard Water Tribe affair if the chef’s traditional attire and promise is anything to go by. Certainly right up Korra’s alley. Utensils tucked under her thumb, she offers the plate with a lift of her eyebrows and a calm smile— _hey_. 

Korra briefly glances at her, and Asami catches some minute spark of the old Korra when her eyes settle on the pungent, hearty slab of meat, but it’s gone just as quickly. 

“No thanks. I’m really not hungry,” she says, turning away, hugging her knees to her chest. 

Korra’s eyes are distance, gazing off into the sunset but not actually seeing. Asami knows she’s hardly moved since the ferry cast off. She’s worrying at her bottom lip and pulling the plate back, unsure of what her next step is, when Korra’s stomach betrays her, rumbling such a cacophonous series of roars that Asami has to bite her cheek hard to keep from laughing. Without looking at her, Korra puffs and begrudgingly extends her hand upwards, and Asami politely hands the plate over. 

“Thanks…” she mutters, embarrassed, a light blush tingeing her cheeks.

An opening. Perfect. “Mind if I sit? We don’t have to talk.” 

At Korra’s noncommittal shrug, she settles cross-legged alongside her, a respectable distance away, and Naga forcefully nudges her large muzzle under her palm, pathetically whining until Asami realizes she must reward her with scratches. Korra offers her a wan smile, one that Asami would think simply soft if not for the desiccated glaze to her eyes. 

Asami watches her stare at the steak, debating, and then, sighing, Korra picks up the chopsticks in one hand and the knife in the other. Her movements are measured and weak, imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Asami catches the subtle stiltedness. In certain respects, she’s always been innately able to read people. 

Korra saws at the steak, gradually, the bones of her knuckles strained and whiter than the icebergs passing by, and Asami feels a slight twinge at her role in this small struggle. But she won’t patronize her. So they sit in an uncomfortable silence until the sun bruises the ocean a brilliant violet and the stars creep out of that veil.

Asami doesn’t know what to say, how to talk to her, unsure if their friendship is salvageable. Were they friends before everything went completely wrong? She likes to think so, but perhaps it was only wishful thinking. First she collided into Mako with her moped and then bought her way into the rest of the Fire Ferrets’ good graces. Looking back, she can’t believe that she essentially paid him to date her, to be her friend… To not sue her? Selfishly accruing individuals of similar ages and interests (if probending sponsorships and aligning moralities qualify) into a haphazard pile. _Look at these people, I can make friends, Dad!_ She grimaces. But she doesn’t give the team enough credit, regardless of her own behavior. Bolin is a sweetheart lacking a single malicious thought, always asking nothing in return; a true friend. And while Mako’s recent behavior vexes her to no end, she knows he is nobly protective and good, beneath that forced exterior, the one that positively drives her up the wall. And Korra did warm up to her, did try to save her from Tarrlok during the riots, did home her at the Air Temple without a second thought. Asami wishes she was so selfless. Selfless enough to forgive her father, she herself not giving in to the same darkness that consumed him, utterly disgusted by his choice to surrender, but sympathetic to just how easily it wormed into his heart and festered there. Years have passed and while she hides the dull ache of her mother’s murder well, Hiroshi did it too. Her father, his company. _Her_ company. Returning to Republic City means returning to Future Industries and her soiled lineage. She’s certain that despite her desire to right her father’s wrongs and prove her value to the city, some citizens will still demand her head in retribution. She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. This is going to be a mess--

“I’m not going to hurt myself,” Korra whispers suddenly, barely breaking over the waves. There's nothing bitter in her voice and it snaps Asami back to reality. With whiplash. “If that’s what you all are so worried about.” 

Asami waits for her to continue, but receives nothing. It was, of course, the first thought that simultaneously sparked around Katara’s cabin that day. Asami won’t lie to her. And she won’t push her.

Korra's long since set aside the meal, hardly touched, and now she gently toes at the hull of the ship. Asami reaches over, ghosts a palm above Korra's knee, and then gently squeezes when she doesn't pull away. Now Korra breathes ragged, shallow and sharp, but her eyes are dry. Asami nods, it's meant to be reassuring though it's hard to tell if Korra sees that.

Then, abruptly, she looks to Asami, mouthing words, but unable to get them all the way out. Then, finally, she manages. 

"I, uh... I don’t know if Amon destroyed the cycle when he… broke me." 

Asami's breath catches. She stares.

"Korra..."

"I don't know. I can't feel it. I can't feel anything anymore. I don't know what's happening or what's going to happen."

There's undiluted fear there. Asami can see it in her eyes and feel it in the timbre of her voice, it radiates off Korra like a sheen despite her efforts to smother it.

It's impossible. The Avatar is the embodiment of the planet, the spirit of it. Asami has never been particularly spiritual, but surely something as eternal and all-powerful as _that_ cannot be completely destroyed by a single misplaced human. But this is so far out of reach, who knows? Asami doesn't know if Korra expects her to respond a certain way, but it feels like a minefield, and anything about bending or spirits is so far beyond her that doesn't even know the correct terminology.

“I exist to protect innocent people. I’m supposed to bring balance to the world. That was the entire reason I was born," Korra says, exasperated. She turns her gaze away, perhaps out of embarrassment. "I had one job and I’ve trained my whole life for situations like this—maybe not, you know, exactly like this, but still--and I failed. I ruined everything. The Avatar is dead because I wasn't good enough." 

If simple support is what Korra needs, then that is what she will be. Initiative then. Asami refuses to let her malinger, to wallow in self-pity. None of them can afford to do so at this critical time and that extends to Korra. So Asami decides. "Don't say that, Korra. What happened... No one could have foreseen Amon. It's not your fault he could do something that shouldn't be possible."

"Another Avatar would have handled it," she spits back almost venomously. But then it seems like Korra catches herself, and she sighs. Naga, sensing emotions amiss, bunts against Korra's arm, which seems to pull her out of her head.

"I just... Anyway. I'm not going to do anything, okay? If the Avatar Spirit actually does get reincarnated into the Earth Kingdom, then the world can’t afford to wait the years it would take to find and train them. Not yet. I’m not the Avatar anymore, I won't be again, but I still owe it to Republic City to still try and fulfill my obligations. So at least until the city is stabilized, I have to still be the Avatar, somehow. I don't think I can, but I still have to be." She sighs again. "I don't know.” 

The stark rationality behind her words sting. And it scares her, but Asami refuses to allow her to wallow in this mire, to malinger in this pit Korra has fallen into and further inundated herself in of her own accord. "I can’t imagine what this is like or how you’re feeling or what you’re going through,” she says firmly, and squeezes Korra's knee again. Of course, it’s all a front of assuredness, though Korra doesn’t need to know that. Asami’s out of her depth here, but her masks have been perfected. “But you’re my friend, Korra, and whatever it is that needs to be done, we can do it together.” Certainly Mako and Bolin and Tenzin and everyone will be there for her too, but Asami refuses to make promises on behalf of others. Republic City and the World needs its Avatar, and whether Korra needs a push or a pillar, she will bear that.

They stay on the deck in silence for hours until the cold finally overcomes Asami, and with Naga dozing peacefully on her lap, she tucks herself against the giant polar bear dog to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Drafted and mostly written before the introduction of Raava, so the Avatar is still the "Spirit of the Planet" here, or whatever exactly they said in the Last Airbender, essentially. Raava, as a character, as a Thing(tm), really threw a wrench in the whole plot. The following will likely make more sense with that in mind.  
> 


End file.
